Rogue Leader
by Nyiestra
Summary: Hours have passed since Rogue arrived at the rendezvous after Hoth but their CO is nowhere to be found. It's time for Wedge and Tycho to step up. Rogue Squadron, genfic.


**Title:** Rogue Leader  
**Fandom:** Star Wars  
**Prompt:** 006. Hours  
**Summary:** Hours have passed since Rogue arrived at the rendezvous after Hoth but their CO is nowhere to be found. It's time for Wedge and Tycho to step up.  
**Characters:** Fab Four, various other Rogues  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** none

Wedge sagged against a ladder and looked around the hangar of the Alliance's newest outpost. "Controlled chaos," the Alderaanian, Tycho Celchu, muttered.

"Nothing controlled about it." Everywhere, people ran helter-skelter back and forth, searching for their missing comrades. He'd been on the ground for an hour and already been asked the whereabouts of at least two dozen beings whose names he'd never even heard before.

All that was, of course, on top of the fact that, the last anyone had heard, Solo was getting Princess Organa out himself because they weren't going to make it to the transports. What had happened after that was really anyone's guess.

"Still no word from Luke?"

"Not a one."

"How's Hobbie?"

"He'll be in bacta at least another day. He had a really close call." Wedge hesitated. "Last I heard he might lose his leg."

"Sithspit."

"Wedge!"

Wedge jerked around, knocking his head against durasteel in the process, and saw Wes Janson threading his way toward them through the ever-moving sea of people. "Nobody knows anything about Luke, Solo, or the Princess. And they're looking for all squadron leaders up front. Now."

Wedge grimaced. Luke had only just had command of the unit dumped on him after the disaster at Derra IV. "Great."

"Which way is the front?" Celchu asked and, from the way he looked around, Wedge guessed it was an honest question. He glanced at Janson, who shrugged. "Good luck, boss."

"Beginning to think our luck has run out."

Celchu's eyes slid toward him. "I was wondering if it was just me."

"You have no idea." Wedge pushed off the ladder and stretched, his muscles still tight with tension. "Keep an eye out for Luke and comm me if you hear anything about him or Solo. Or Hobbie."

"Will do, boss."

He studied Janson for a moment, a little unwilling to leave him alone with Celchu—the two of them had gotten off on the wrong foot and it'd only gone down from there. But Wes looked too weary to make trouble and Celchu hadn't been one to start things so he took his leave.

He was the last to reach the huddle of squadron commanders gathered around General Rieekan. The General raised an eyebrow at him but nodded and continued speaking. "At this point, as I'm sure you're all aware, we don't know the location of Captain Solo, who had last indicated he would be taking Princess Organa off the planet on his personal ship. Until we receive additional information about their whereabouts, we must assume they did not survive the Hoth evacuation."

"Along with most of us," a y-wing pilot that Wedge recognized, though couldn't name, muttered under his breath.

_Almost_ under his breath. Rieekan heard him. "We did take significant losses to our starfighter corps and I want to commend you all on your performance. I know what we asked of you all wasn't easy."

"Suicide, more like."

Rieekan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looking more worn down than Wedge could remember seeing him before. "We've taken a lot of damage recently and some of you have seen more than others. But this isn't over and we aren't backing down. And, sooner or later, we're going to see the calm at the eye of the storm."

_And then a much more turbulent storm on the other side,_ Wedge thought to himself but didn't speak aloud. He didn't have anything to say that the others weren't already feeling and kriff if he was going to bring morale any lower.

"I know we took some hits and we don't have the numbers I'd like to have for patrols, so we're going to go over our remaining strength and, in some cases, may combine squadrons for patrol duty. I haven't had the chance to sit down and do so yet, but expect to see a schedule within the day. Before I can do that, however, I need an accurate report of losses for all our starfighter squadrons, so the sooner you can get that to me the smoother the transition will be."

Rogue would probably be one of those units combined with another; they were down to half-strength, less than that until Hobbie was out of bacta.

"Any questions?"

"How long will we be here, sir?" Wedge asked.

"Until we find someplace better, or the Empire finds us. We'd all best pray that the former comes first."

He respected Rieekan's habit of brutal honesty but there were occasions he wished the man might sugarcoat things a bit more. This was one of them. "Anything else?" When no one said a word, the general dismissed them. Wedge started to walk away, pulling out his datapad. "Antilles?"

He jumped at Rieekan's voice. "Yes, sir?"

"Walk with me." Wedge frowned but fell into step beside the older man, following him away from the chaos. "We still have no word on Commander Skywalker, I assume?"

"Nothing."

"I was afraid of that. Do you feel capable of leading your unit?"

"Under the circumstances, I don't see that I have an option."

"That's not necessarily true. We took very heavy losses covering the evacuation. How many did you lose?"

"Excluding those who were only on loan as gunners, we're down to five pilots flight-ready. Klivian is in bacta but should be okay within a couple of days."

"So, six then, which is actually a little better than most of our units fared. Couple the beating we just took with the way things had been going before that and we have plenty of space for pilots. We could combine Rogue with another unit hurting for people, or we could simply reassign all of you."

His words hit Wedge like a fist in his gut. "You'd dissolve Rogue Squadron?"

"If you don't feel you can handle the squadron – and continuing to receive the same types of missions as you have in the past – we'd have no other option."

"That won't be necessary, sir."

General Rieekan stopped to look him over. "You didn't seem so confident a moment ago."

"I said I didn't see that I had a choice, General, not that I didn't think I could do it. And I apologize if my response implied that; it wasn't my intention."

"Then you are prepared to lead Rogue Squadron, knowing that your assignments will likely increase in their difficulty and frequency, and that your chances of seeing your roster fill up in the near future are slim to none."

"Yes, sir." _Not at all but he wasn't about to let Rogue Squadron been disbanded._

"Select an executive officer, Captain. And prepare yourself for the possibility that this unit will be in your hands permanently."

Wedge watched Rieekan walk away, realizing too late that he had no idea where he was or how to get back to his fighter. He turned around, made a valiant effort to retrace his steps, and ended up along the wrong side of a squad of y-wings that made it impossible for him to see where he'd left his x-wing. "How do you lose a starfighter?"

"Shouldn't that be how many Corellians does it take to lose a starfighter?"

"It'd make it a better joke," Wedge admitted, turning to face one of his fellows, Dash Rendar. "Unfortunately, there's nothing even remotely funny about this situation."

"Skywalker's still missing, then." Wedge nodded, rising onto his toes in a futile effort to see over the throngs of people. "And I take it you're lost?"

"You'd think I'd be able to hear Janson's big mouth from anywhere on this rock."

"You'd think. Come on, this way." With the same ease with which he piloted nearly any craft, Dash threaded his way through the crowd, jostling and shouldering people out of the way when the situation called for it. Wedge caught a few muttered curses but most people ignored them entirely. When they finally stopped moving, his x-wing was in sight. Janson and Celchu were still there and still standing, and he thanked his lucky stars.

Then he recalled Rieekan's last words to him, telling him to pick an XO. _Shavit_.

"What did Rieekan have to say?"

Wedge ticked things off on the fingers of his left hand. "He's going to be pushing squads together to have full rosters for patrols. No one knows anything about Leia Organa or Solo, and he's assuming right now that they didn't make it. We're here for the duration because at this point they have no place better to send us off to, which means that if the Imps do find us, we're in trouble. And if I didn't feel confident enough to lead the squadron into worse missions than we've been getting with the roster as it stands right now, he'd decommission Rogue."

"What?" Janson popped up from where he sat on the bottom rung of Wedge's cockpit ladder. "You're kidding."

"We're at half-strength and our CO is MIA," Celchu said quietly. "It's not that surprising that he'd entertain the thought."

Wes fixed him with a glare. "This isn't the Empire. And Rogue is—"

The Alderaanian met his gaze evenly and his voice was cool as he replied. "A symbol, I know. But symbols do no good if there's no one to carry them on. Rieekan's concerned about losing what's left of the squadron. If Wedge didn't feel capable of taking over for Luke, he wouldn't be and it'd be a disaster."

"Enough. I have to transmit to Rieekan our current roster and I need to pick an XO. And I want to check on Hobbie. So why don't we find our quarters and pack it in for a while, okay?"

"I'll catch up with you guys later," Dash said quickly. "I've got to see a guy about a thing."

Wedge rolled his eyes but nodded. The man was Corellian through and through—and Wedge considered his own Corellian blood pretty kriffing pure. "Later."

It took countless wrong turns and conversations with half a dozen people and two droids but Wedge, Janson and Celchu finally found their quarters. Wedge had a room to himself and Janson would be bunking with Hobbie when he was back. Celchu and Dash would bunk together; even though Dash wasn't officially a Rogue, he'd need a place to stay until he took off again. He and Celchu got on well enough and Wedge was of a mind that Dash couldn't help but loosen the guy up.

He'd no sooner stripped out of his flight suit than he heard a knock at the door. "Just a minute." He threw his day uniform on, managed to get the zipper stuck at the waist and spent a full thirty seconds fighting with it before it opted to cooperate. Dash Rendar was standing in the corridor, eyebrow quirked.

"Having trouble?"

"How could you tell?"

Dash reached out, hooked a finger through the zipper and pulled. "Not quite there." Wedge muttered a curse and turned away, making sure the zip caught before he turned back again.

"Some CO. Can't even dress myself."

"Just a sign your mind is on other more important things. Like choosing an XO." He nodded his head. "Can I come in?"

"You're rooming with Celchu, by the way." Wedge stepped back to allow him in and slapped at the door panel to close it behind him.

"I know. I saw him." Dash dropped onto the cot and stretched his legs out, clearly making himself at home. "Who're you gonna pick?"

"No idea." Wedge frowned before turning the broken-down chair he had around to sit on it backwards. He rested his chin on his folded arms and sighed. "There are three options."

"Janson, Klivian, and Celchu."

"Right. But Hobbie's wounded, and I need someone now."

"Which leaves Janson and Celchu. But Janson's not XO material."

"He wouldn't want the responsibility," Wedge agreed, "and even though I think he'd do fine, I don't want to put it on him."

"Which leaves you with Celchu. And Janson'll have a fit if you pick him."

"Exactly."

Dash leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder. "Sounds like Skywalker left you bent over the proverbial barrel."

"If I ever get my hands on him…"

"You'll fall down at his feet and beg him never to leave again."

Wedge tried to glare but his lips split into a grin against his will. "Probably. What would you do?" Had Dash been a member of the unit, he wouldn't have been having this conversation. But he was a freelancer and Wedge desperately needed the advice.

"The same thing you want to do. Celchu's the only option here. Kriff, he's a better choice than Klivian even if the guy wasn't permanently glued to a bacta tank. He's experienced and he's good—real good. And he's got that administrative mind. And he's cooler under pressure than either of them." He hesitated. "And you aren't friends."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Dash stared at him. "You're kidding, right? It has everything to do with it. You don't have a history with Celchu. You trust him because of what you've seen him do. He's sharp and calm and he takes risks when he has to, not just because he can. You're judging him based on his qualifications, not because of friendship or loyalty or anything else. If you made Janson your XO, you'd be doing it because you feel like you should, not because you know he's the best choice."

"Janson's a solid pilot."

Dash shook his head. "Janson's an amazing pilot and he's one of the best shots I've ever seen. I never said he wasn't. He's good where he is, Antilles. He'd make a lousy XO right now and you know it, but you're still considering him. Why do you think that is?"

Wedge sighed. "Because Celchu will understand if I pick Janson. Janson won't understand if I pick Celchu."

"You're the CO, Antilles. It's your job to make him understand."

Wedge shot Dash a dark glare. "You've clearly never tried to make Wes understand anything."

Dash grinned. "Can't say as I have. And I don't envy you trying to do it." He slid forward and hopped off the bed. "I've got a run to make but I'll stick around another couple days in case you folks run into trouble before Klivian's on his feet again."

After stalling as long as he possibly could, Wedge finally commed Celchu to ask him to stop by. The man was at his door within a minute, the poster boy for Imperial discipline. "Yes, sir?"

Wedge rolled his eyes, returned Celchu's salute, and gestured toward his cot. "Have a seat." It took a minute but Tycho finally sat—his back rigid and his stature practically still at attention. "Would you relax?"

"Yes, sir."

"Stop calling me that."

"Yes—" Tycho flushed and nodded. "Sorry."

"I wanted to ask your thoughts on something." Wedge folded his arms, resting them on the back of his chair. "You've been with the unit long enough to have formed a first opinion on our people."

"I suppose so, yes."

"You _suppose_ you have an opinion on the men you fly with?"

"I have opinions, si—Wedge. I form opinions of people the instant I meet them. That doesn't mean they're of any practical use and it certainly means they're affected by my own personal biases."

"Fair enough. But I'm asking for your opinions, and I want them skewed by your personal biases."

The Rebellion was ripe with defectors and Celchu wouldn't be the first to carry over with him bits and pieces of Imp doctrine and expectations. The Rebellion was loose on the discipline front and while that was a product of the type of war they were fighting and how these people had come together under the Alliance banner, it wasn't necessarily conducive to productivity—or survival.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Wedge sighed. "You and I both know that half of what goes on here wouldn't fly in an Imp unit. You've seen discipline and this isn't it."

"Ah." Celchu nodded to himself and then opened his mouth, but shut it again before speaking. "We were told that Rebels had no discipline and we were reprimanded anytime they seemed to outfly us, because how could we be outflown by pilots with no discipline and no formal training? I anticipated a sort of chaos when I came over and I wasn't disappointed. The comm chatter, the practical jokes, the drinking and gambling and even the general conduct of the soldiers aboard ship and around base—it was almost impossible to see it as being anything but detrimental. My first instinct was that this sort of behavior gets people killed."

Wedge blinked. "That's a very harsh assessment."

Tycho looked at him, blue eyes piercing. "I wasn't done."

"Go on."

"First instincts aren't always correct. And I think, Wedge, that the way things are run here suits the operation. It's still too lax for my comfort level but I'm adjusting." He shook his head. "These people fight because they believe in it. They want to be here and they are willing to die for their convictions and that's something that no amount of regulation and control can match. There's a loyalty and devotion here that the Empire will never find in its people on a large scale. Mind, there are loyal Imperial soldiers but it's not the way you see it here and it will never be that way."

The latter half of what Celchu had to say surprised Wedge more than the former. Celchu had struck him as rigid—skilled and an incredible asset to the Alliance, enough so that Wedge had thanked his lucky stars more than once that he was now flying for them rather than against him—but too controlled to ever fit well into the squadron.

Of course, that might have been attributed to the fact that he was probably constantly watching his back expecting Janson to stick a vibroblade in it, but that would fade with time and familiarity. "I appreciate your candor."

"Thank you."

Wedge sat back. It was clear that Celchu wasn't all that comfortable with the conversation, but it was about to get more uncomfortable. "Now, what do you think about the individuals you fly with?"

"They're all very good pilots, sir. Some of the best I've seen, on both sides of the war."

"More specifically, Lieutenant?"

Celchu looked down at his hands. "Who are you asking me about, sir?"

Wedge fought the urge to correct him for reverting back to 'sir.' It was his own fault for addressing Celchu by rank anyway. "We don't have that many pilots left."

The Alderaanian squared his shoulders and nodded. "I think Rendar's out for himself, first and foremost, and I don't completely trust him. I appreciate that he helped us out at Hoth and that he's staying around until Hobbie's on his feet but I'm unwilling to count on him."

"Fair enough."

"Datch is a solid pilot, not all that disciplined but it's not surprising given he doesn't have a military background. I have no reservations about flying with him and I think he's valuable to the unit. I don't know him well enough personally to have much of an opinion."

"That's fine."

"Hobbie is an excellent pilot, and was at the Academy as well. His level of discipline seems to have dropped off some since then but it's still clear he has that formal training." His lips quirked into a pseudo-smile. "It'd be nice to see him not quite so pessimistic but with his luck I can't exactly fault him."

"And Janson?"

"Janson's also an excellent pilot; he's almost intuitive with his lasers and that's something that can't be taught. I get the sense that there are things about him I don't know but I have no reservations flying with him."

"Now, that's not true."

"What?"

"You're near to jumping out of your skin when he comes near you, Celchu. You mean to tell me that all those concerns disappear when you lift off?"

"Actually, yes. I admit, Janson's presence does things to my blood pressure and my nerves on the ground. But I have no doubt that he'd help me out if I was in a jam in a dogfight. He'd never do anything to endanger one of his own people in a fight."

Wedge considered. He himself had no concerns about Celchu's safety around Janson; the man might glare blaster bolts at Celchu but he wouldn't ever actually shoot him. The Alderaanian, though, didn't seem to share his convictions.

Regardless, though, any loss in a battle endangered the remaining pilots and no matter his personal feelings Janson would never deliberately endanger another Alliance pilot. "That's an interesting take on the subject."

"Thank you. I think." He hesitated. "I don't actually think Janson would harm me in any way, though he does seem to enjoy threatening me."

"You'll learn, if you haven't already, that he's a lot of talk and not a lot of action—unless you're a threat to him, at any rate. I'm not sure what drives his animosity toward you but I'm certain it'll fade in time."

"I hope so."

Wedge fell silent, giving Tycho time to think and himself time to reconsider. "You know I need to select an XO."

"I do."

"Who would your recommendation be?"

There was barely a moment before Celchu answered. "Hobbie. He has formal training and he knows Imperial tactics. He's not all that ambitious but he's got natural leadership qualities and people respect him. That's important, because it keeps the low level of structure from collapsing altogether."

"I wasn't under the impression that Hobbie has any desire to lead."

Tycho looked straight at him. "Do you?"

Wedge opened his mouth, then shut it again. "You have a point there."

"The Alliance needs leaders and there are few to go around. Those who have it in them have no choice but to step up and take control when it's thrust at them. It's the only way the Alliance has survived this far."

"Then why aren't you stepping up?"

Tycho blinked. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You're a lieutenant, which Hobbie is not. You have every bit as much, if not more, formal training as he does. You're absolutely more disciplined—though, perhaps, a little too disciplined for this unit. You're arguably the most skilled pilot we have in Luke's absence. Why aren't you volunteering?"

"I would think that would be obvious."

"Really?"

"Janson doesn't trust me and I'm sure he's not alone."

"Datch has no issue with you. I don't and Hobbie doesn't. We're all that's left of Rogue. And Janson will come around with time."

"I didn't just mean within the squadron."

Wedge gave a short nod. "I understand that. But I learned some time ago that the opinions that really matter are those of the people you fly with every day. You've heard all that happened at Yavin?"

"Yes."

"Luke was right to order me out of the trench. If I'd stayed I'd have gotten all three of us killed. I knew he was right and he knew he'd made the right call. General Dodonna, Leia Organa—they knew as well. But that didn't stop people from saying a lot of things, things that made me question my worth to the Alliance. The men and women I flew with afterward—people who'd known Biggs Darklighter and Jek Porkins and Garven Dreis—beat into my head that the ones who were talking, the ones saying that I should have died, that Biggs would have lived, weren't the ones I needed to be listening to. It took a while but I learned that lesson."

"There's a difference."

"Oh?"

"You had the support of people higher up, the Princess, General Dodonna—"

"And you don't think you do? Celchu, you wouldn't be in Rogue if the higher ups didn't trust you. We're desperate but we're not that desperate. Flying with Rogue Squadron carries with it too much exposure to sensitive information. If there was any concern about your loyalties, you'd be in some y-wing unit monitoring Imp movements, not somewhere you could do serious damage to the Alliance."

"I'm sorry if I'm not convinced."

"You'd better convince yourself, and quickly. I'm making you my XO."

Tycho's shoulders slumped. "If that's your decision."

"It is." Wedge stood and spun the chair around, sitting back down to face the data terminal that had just been installed. "Hobbie's going to be out of bacta by tomorrow morning, though he won't be fit to fly until the end of the week at the earliest. I need to transmit to Rieekan our unit roster, including your name as XO, and my recommendation as to whether we should combine with another unit for patrol duty." When he got no response, he turned around. Celchu was still sitting on the cot, looking as if he'd just been kicked in the teeth. "Are you listening?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then get over here." He turned back to the terminal. "Until Hobbie's back, we'll still have Dash. Then there's Datch, Janson, you and me so we're below even half-strength. And once Hobbie's back Dash is gone again so we're staying there. I know there are units with even fewer pilots so it's not a question of having to break up Rogue if Rieekan were to combine us."

"It probably wouldn't be a good idea." Tycho shook his head. "There's a difference between flying side by side with another squadron in the same battle and flying _with_ that unit. And if we do run into trouble, chances are that someone from whatever unit we're coupled with will end up trying to keep up with our people and get themselves killed."

"My concern exactly." Wedge rocked back in his chair. "So we're agreed, then? Rogue is better off on its own, decimated or not?"

"We're agreed." Tycho finally offered him a rare grin.

"I told you, you were right for this job."

"You haven't told Janson yet."

It was a fair point. "You know, as my XO, I can make you do that."

The Alderaanian looked stricken and it occurred to Wedge too late that Tycho didn't know him well enough yet to know he wasn't serious. "I'm trying to convince you that I made the right decision, not get you killed."

That hadn't gone very far toward reassuring him either. "If you're going to be in Rogue Squadron, Tycho, you've _got_ to learn how to take a joke."

"Warnings of impending death aren't very funny."

"Didn't they teach you at the Academy that you're supposed to laugh in the face of death?"

Tycho made a face. "They must have skipped that lesson."


End file.
